Heather Graham Bundle: The Island / Ghost Walk / Killing Kelly / The Vision. Heather Graham
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is, no matter what you say, I don’t believe you.”
“Oh?” He arched a brow, features slightly tense, then easing as he offered her a rueful grin. “Is that a challenge? Or an accusation?”
“Neither. I’m just saying that I don’t trust you.”
“How amazing. I never would have realized—especially since we’ve just discussed that fact.”
“You’re sarcastic, to boot.”
“Sorry. If I bug you that much, you might remember that I claimed this tree first.”
She stiffened and started to rise.
He caught her arm. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll leave you to your tree,” she told him, teeth grating.
“I said I was sorry. It’s just that you came over here and started attacking—”
“I didn’t attack.”
“You accused me of…something. I just don’t know what you want from me.”
She hesitated, feeling his hand lingering on her arm. His eyes were so steady on her. So sincere.
Why couldn’t she have met him at one of her brother’s small get-togethers? At the yacht club, or on a local dive trip? Why couldn’t he have been an old school friend of someone, anyone, who could be trusted? His touch was the kind that made little jolts of electricity tease the bloodstream, and when she was close to him like this, all she wanted was to touch and be touched.
She gave herself a serious mental shake. He wasn’t one of her brother’s old school friends, and she had met him under very strange circumstances. And she seemed to be having trouble answering him, though he wasn’t pressing anything. He was just looking at her, and they were very close. Close enough so that she knew she liked the arch of his brows, the strength of his features, the way his jaw could seem as hard as a rock until his smile changed everything about him.
“Beth, seriously, I don’t know what you want—”
“The truth,” she murmured.
He released her and leaned back against the tree, looking up at the night sky.
“The truth?” he asked, sounding edgy again. “I don’t know anything about anything. My motto is simply to be very careful. That’s the truth. I just think you should be careful, too, that’s all.”
“Because Brad and Sandy were behaving suspiciously?”
“Because you think you found a skull—and you’re pretty much letting everyone know.”
It was her turn to be aggravated. “There you go—talking in circles again. I think I found a skull. If I didn’t find a skull, then what is there to be worried about?”
“Maybe nothing. Probably nothing.”
“Do you know you’re incredibly exasperating?” she demanded.
That rueful smile slipped easily into place again. “Do you know the line that should come after that one? Let’s see. ‘You’re incredibly beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.’ But that wouldn’t sound much like the truth to you, either, would it? And it’s probably something you’ve heard a million times before.” The fact that he didn’t touch her then, or move closer to her in any way, made his words seem all the more compelling. She felt the urge to move closer, but she forced herself to maintain her distance. She felt as if there was at least a grain of honesty in his compliment, and she doubted he was a man who got turned down often.
“Thanks,” she murmured uneasily, and looked at the swaying palms against the night sky. She worked with the public herself, knew how to smile and play a part, how to manipulate—and when she was being manipulated.
She turned to him squarely, “Actually, it sounds like the kind of line you use when you’re trying to change the subject.”
“I’ve just offered all that I can on the subject that I’d be changing,” he told her.
Her eyes fell on Lee’s yacht. “Quite a boat,” she murmured.
“A seventy-five-foot motor yacht,” he agreed. “You should have come aboard. She’s one glorious lady.”
She turned to him. “You could show her to me in the morning.”
He seemed surprised by the suggestion. “I could, yes.” He watched her curiously for a moment, a slow smile creeping over his lips. “Ah. You’re going to check her out. Look for bodies or evidence of evildoing.”
Beth averted her eyes. “No such thing. She’s a beautiful boat. I work at a yacht club.”
“So you see lots of beautiful boats.”
“I love to be able to discuss them with the members.”
He laughed easily. “You can check her out. No problem.”
“Which means, of course, that if you were concealing something, it would be well hidden,” she informed him.
“Did you study criminology?” he demanded. “Or do you suffer from an overdose of cop shows on television? If you’ve been paying attention, one more time, Ms. Anderson, it’s smart to keep out of things that don’t concern you.”
“So I shouldn’t go on the boat?”
He groaned. “You’re more than welcome to see the boat. I told you—we’re not pirates.”
“Does that mean you’re not pirates but you are some other kind of criminal, or that some people are pirates, even though you and your friends aren’t?”
“If I say good-morning when I see you and the sun is up, will you be dissecting those words, as well?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He stood, reaching a hand down to her. “Well, I suggest we get some sleep and find out,” he said.
She hesitated before accepting his hand. As he helped her to her feet, she came up against him. The length of her body brushed against his. When she was up, she remained close, thinking—hoping?—he was going to touch her.
She thought she might lose all sense of reason and reach out and touch him, place her fingers on his face.
“No line,” he said softly. “You are…like a flame. I’d give my eyeteeth to be the moth that was consumed.”
She blinked. His voice was deep, sincere, and yet he was distant. He didn’t even try acting on his words. If anything, they were wistful.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her, and a dry smile twisted his lips. “I know how to pine from afar.” He hesitated. “You really don’t need to be afraid of me,” he assured her.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she lied.
“You’re not?”
“Only a little.”
“Actually, you should be. I’m dying to touch you,” he said.
The breeze whispered. The ghosts of the island, she thought. The cool air caressed her flesh. She was tempted to step forward and tell him that she was afraid, but willing to take her chances anyway.
Just to be touched.
To her absolute amazement, she heard herself say, “Maybe you should be afraid. Maybe I’m dying to touch you, too.”
His hand rose. His knuckles and the back of his hand just brushed over her cheek. His eyes met hers. For once there seemed to be honesty in them. “You’re like a dream, perfect in so many ways.”
She swallowed hard. “Not perfect,” she murmured.
He laughed, dropping his hand, easing back a bit. “Smart,